


Only I Will Remain

by fedaykin



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dune Setting, Dune timeline adjacent, Kylux - Freeform, M/M, Tagging as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2018-12-31 12:42:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12132729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fedaykin/pseuds/fedaykin
Summary: Arrakis. Dune. Desert planet. Home of the most valuable resource in the universe - the Spice Melange.A Harkonnen Major and a Fremen warrior. Sworn enemies both seeking the control of the planet.Destinies entwined, they realize that there is only one truth in the universe - the Spice must flow.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to my long-overdue Dune AU! Whether you are a diehard fan or a newcomer, I aim to make this fic accessible to everyone. If there is any terminology that I need to clarify, let me know!

* * *

 

“We’ve lost another ‘thopter.”

Hux looked up from his readouts, his eyes sharp.

“... _Sir_.” The soldier didn’t even have the decency to hide his insubordination, barging into his office with little care.

“That's the third this month,” Hux stated simply. Disinterested eyes stared back. “Dismissed, Captain.”

Hux watched the door swing shut. It was bad enough to be sentenced to this hell of a post, but it was worse having his failures observed by the Emperor's own Sardaukar.

And failures he had. Three ornithopters now lost to those desert rats, the Fremen. Good men slain. Add in the spice harvester loss to the great sand worms last week and he was left with no solutions and no reinforcements.

Leaning back in his chair, Hux searched the ceiling for answers, but only found cracked stone and dying lamps. This had to be reported at the expense of his own pride.

Refusing to sigh, Hux opened a communication channel. It always took a moment to find the satellites, the technology was centuries old and unreliable. He could only stare at the sand-clogged speaker as the static interference resolved itself.

“Arakeen 583-Delta,” a clear voice rang through.

Hux leaned forward. “This is Delta Sierra Outpost 771- Hotel Echo.”

“Go ahead, 771.”

“I need transferring to Commandant Hux, clearance code 3827.”

“Cleared. Transferring.”

Hux’s body wanted to fidget, but he was not some animal. His fists tightened as he waited. The creak of his gloves only irritated him.

“Yes?” a gruff voice barked out.

“Commandant, sir, this is Delta Sierra Outpost 771- Hotel Echo. Major Armitage Hux reporting.”

“What is it, Major?” No warmth or familiarity could be found in the response.

“Sir, I am reporting an ornithopter loss, number 48.33. Requesting permission for a replacement in the next supply run.”

“Another, Major?”

He wouldn't flinch. That had been expertly beaten from him long ago. “Yes, sir.”

“Tell me, Major - how incompetent would you rate yourself?”

Hux clenched his eyes. There were no right answers to this question. “Sir, I - “

“Major, you were gifted this post as a sign of faith from the upper echelons. And all you have reported over the past six months are failures.”

“The Fremen - “ Hux began, but stopped himself. Excuses were pointless. It didn't matter that he had lost 80% of his personnel over that time to worms and Fremen.

“The Fremen? You were assigned a team of Sardaukar last month. Failure to eradicate the rats could only come from insufficient leadership.”

The Sardaukar, the Padishah Emperor's elite soldiers, had no desire to follow the orders of a Major from House Harkonnen. They blamed him for being sent to this exile, so far from any decent civilization that it was almost more time-effective to travel through the outer atmospheres than near ground level. And certainly safer, too.

These facts were simply that - facts. He found reassurance in his actions for a while longer. Their disinterest in his leadership was a problem that he needed to solve but their ingrained prejudices were hardly a fault of his own.

Hux redirected. “What is the status of reinforcements?”

The Commandant scoffed. “Another three months, minimum.”

“We were guaranteed personnel with the next supply drop,” Hux said carefully.

“Which is now delayed as well, due to your incompetence. I see no need to deliver equipment to an outpost that loses them.”

Hux paused for a moment, shoving his dread into a box in his mind. “A supply drop of food would be appreciated.”

“You have emergency rations and water, don’t you? Or have you lost those, too? You can go lick the spice from the sand if you want a change in flavor.”

“Morale will be low under these conditions.”

“That’s your problem to be addressed, Major.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’ll be notified when a drop is on the way. Until then, I don’t want another message from you, Major, unless it’s something useful to report. I don’t care if you’re overrun with savages - the rest of us have work to do.”

“Yes, sir.”

The call clicked off, the soft burst of static compelled Hux to grind his teeth. There was nothing like a call to his own father that made Hux evaluate his own self-worth. Perhaps he would have been better off failing as a child. He would have been disowned, stripped of the family name, working in some factory, creating the things that powerful men took for granted.

No, he had fought his way here. Even if ‘here’ was a hellhole meant to test him.

Hux switched the static off. “Lieutenant!” Hux snapped towards the door. It took only a moment until a harried-looking young man appeared at the door, trying to straighten his sand-bleached hat atop his head.

“Yes, sir?”

Mitaka was a Second Lieutenant, fresh from the Academy and as green as they come. He was top of his class and still unlucky enough to receive assignment to Arrakis. But over the months, his shiny uniform became stained and worn, just like the rest of those that had survived. He was stronger than he looked and he’d become almost an assistant to Hux, all others were either dead or disrespectful. Mitaka was a man Hux could trust.

“Sit. We need to reevaluate the duty schedule and well as prepare for switching to emergency rations.”

Mitaka’s face paled for a moment before he dutifully sat, already pulling up the proper files on his datapad.

“First, we need to double the watch standing. No more singling, I want two sets of eyes always ready. Also, I want to transition more active shifts to overnights.”

“Sir, that will put a severe strain on our current schedule. Where shall I transfer the hours?”

“Remove two sleeping hours as well as 15 minutes from each meal. It doesn’t take long to consume a ration pack,” Hux said, bitterness creeping in.

“Of course, sir, um… will this be applied to the Sardaukar as well?”

“Yes. As they have been ordered to remain here, they will have to adapt to our rules. Any complaints may be directed to me personally.”

“Yes, sir. And for the rationing?”

“How long until our fresh food is consumed?”

“It’s scheduled to last until the next supply drop.”

“That drop has been postponed until further notice. Let the staff know there will be a transition.”

Mitaka swallowed. “Yes, sir. Anything else, sir?”

“That will be all, Lieutenant. I’ll be retiring shortly for the midday, I’ll expect your report at sundown.”

“Yes, sir.”

As the door clicked shut behind Mitaka, the loud slam of a fist hitting the desk could be heard in the hall. It was willfully ignored by those nearby, especially Hux, whose hand ached with pain.

* * *

 

Sweat dripped down his neck, further staining his uniform. Arrakis was a desert planet and hotter than most humans could stand. And yet, the Harkonnen family continued to operate on a diurnal schedule. The Fremen wisely hid in their caves during the high sun, along with the meager wildlife. All smarter than the governing body of the planet. Hux had slowly been moving his post to a nocturnal system, favoring the crepuscular system of activity at dawn and dusk. It was easier, so far removed from civilization. And with the Fremen attacks happening at night, it was sheer stupidity to continue sleeping through them. His suggestions to higher chains of command had been ignored. They lived in climate-cooled buildings with plentiful water and little chance of danger. Changing their schedule for the foot soldiers was laughable.

The sun was as high as the temperature and Hux felt his body sag. He took a few notes to aid him in his upcoming shift before closing up his office.

Activity in the building was waning, he only encountered a few during his few minute walk to his quarters. Originally, he’d been sharing a space with two others, but they were gone now.

Every time Hux removed his uniform, he felt crestfallen. It had once been black, now bleached a dark brown, and threadbare in spots, abraded by sand. His boots had been scratched beyond repair, yet he still shined them once a week. This planet would not weaken him.

Hux climbed into his rack, his bare arms itching from the sand that always managed to be in his bedsheets. He had wasted a lot of energy being angry at this post in the beginning. But his resigned acceptance seemed much more damning. He closed his eyes.

His body craved rest but his mind still traveled. He’d once been called a Mentat by his peers in the Academy. Surely meant as an insult, but Hux had been momentarily intrigued. To have that kind of power, to always know the answer, to calculate risks precisely, to be useful in a way that could not be refuted, to see the word as a set of numbers - it was so very tempting. But his mind was loud enough as it was and there was something about absolute certainty that made him hesitate. With that kind of power, Hux would someday know that he would lose and there would be nothing to be done about it. He refused to call it fear.

He couldn’t have been a Mentat anyway. That was not his path. But neither was disintegrating into dust in an outpost so far from assistance. They had called it ‘faith’. A faith in his abilities to take the job no one wanted and be successful. Hux didn’t need to be a Mentat to know that this was impossible.

So many lives lost. Too many for him to have properly met. Sending the death notices for the harvester crew had been the first time he’d become acquainted with their files. A sense of duty wished for him to remember the names and faces, to honor them. But they were dead, long crushed and decomposed in the belly of a giant sand worm. They had failed.

Truthfully, he had failed.

The Sardaukar arrived two days after that incident.

Hux rolled to his side and checked the time. He’d spent an hour thinking instead of sleeping. An hour that could have been used for work or rest. And he’d failed at that, too.

As a boy, he enthusiastically studied engineering. Society’s technological needs had been met for centuries, but he still dreamed. When he was seven years old, he had taken a projector apart to see how it worked. His father had discovered his experiment and was furious, nearly breaking Hux’s arm in his rage. After that, Hux had challenged himself to put things back together before his father returned home, even if he had to take something apart for weeks just to get enough time to study each piece.

Hux had been lucky enough to specialize in engineering in the Academy.

Those skills now served him as a lullaby. Years of training were of no use as part of command.

He closed his eyes and pictured his clock. Each piece slowly spreading away from each other. An extra battery there would increase its operating life. Lengthen this capacitor and he could change the brightness. He could insert a board that would also tell him the temperature. Not that it mattered. Hot was hot. Even the nights could be unbearable.

Gears floated in his mind, reflecting a sun that he could not see. The light blinded him, the components flashing faster and faster through the air. Deep in the darkness beyond him, two pale dots came into focus. A blue light emanated from those eyes, staring straight into Hux’s mind. Danger. The smell of spice. Rocks cascading down a cliff. A flash of white. Pain, unbearable pain. Hux looked down and pulled a strange knife from his gut, watching the blood spill on the sand.

“Why, Hux?” That voice was so warm and familiar but so sad. Hux looked up into those glowing blue eyes.

Hux bolted upright in bed. Sleep would not be coming tonight.

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you all.
> 
> \-----  
> Find me at my side blog [Huxplicit](http://huxplicit.tumblr.com/)  
> 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long overdue 
> 
> but not as long as killing strangers, amirite? badum tss! ...why is no one laughing? 
> 
> anyway, no beta, no fucks, special thanks to grammarly for helping my tired brain

* * *

 

It was impossible through the filter covering his mouth and nose, but Kylo Ren could tell the air tasted like home. It had been a hard ride for nearly two weeks, stopping at various sietches and caves, but now their journey was over. The Sietch D’Qar was only a few kilometers away and Kylo felt the relief in his bones.  
  
A tremor in the ground brought Kylo’s attention to look back at the sandworm, a smaller one of near 600 meters, as it slowly sank down into the sand, away to rest. Kylo briefly gave thanks to the little Maker. Its speed had brought them home a half day early. He had no doubt that someday that tenacious one would grow into a massive worm worthy of the title, Shai-Hulud, a grandfather of the desert.  
  
Kylo looked to his six companions. Their gear and maker hooks had been properly stowed and glowing blue eyes stared back at him from under each hooded head. He nodded once and they set off towards the jutting rocks in the distance.  
  
They had left over a year ago to join the northern sietches. They had been taught to fight in ways that seemed like magic but was science. How to move, how to breathe, how to find every flaw in an opponent merely from their stance. Kylo and the others had become elite warriors, Fedaykin, to serve in the Great War led by Muad’Dib, the offworlder that was rumored to be their messiah.  
  
He had never been the religious type, but it didn’t matter. This would be the final battle. The boy had taught them many things that could only lead to a powerful victory for their people. A chance to remove the Harkonnen stench for good and take back control of their planet.

Messiah or not, this would be it.  
  
They moved silently through the morning light, their footsteps soft and irregular. Kylo couldn’t help but begin to hum a tune from his childhood, a way to teach the children how to move across the sand without attracting a worm.  
  
Home was so close. He increased their pace.

* * *

 

Returning was always a joyous time in the sietches. Small figures waved from the rocks, barely visible in their tans and browns. Soon, voices could be heard calling out welcomes; closer still and a few impatient ones ran out to meet their loved ones.

Chuckles broke out as a body flung itself past Kylo, tackling one of his poor companions into the sand.

Kylo unbuckled his face mask and took a deep breath in. He searched the growing crowd for his own family. With his significant height advantage, it didn’t take long for.

“Mother,” he said, taking a short woman in his arms. Each time they separated, he always felt like she had grown smaller and with more grey hairs. But then she would meet his gaze and he saw the strength surging through her.

“My Ben,” Leia said, using his sietch name. “It’s been too long.” Her face was so warm and inviting, it was easy to forget all the times they had fought in the past.

Kylo smiled down at her. “It has. But we bring news from the North. Our time is coming.”

“As I’ve hoped and feared,” Leia said somberly.

The planet would be theirs again. It was exhilarating and terrifying.

“Where’s little Rey?” Kylo asked, wanting to distract his mother from the future.

It was delightful to have Leia laugh. “If she hears you call her that, she’ll add another pretty slice to your face.”

Despite being ten years his junior, Rey was one of the most accomplished warriors in their sietch and Kylo had the scar to prove it. She had been devastated to stay home while Kylo and his companions left to learn in the North, but her younger age held her back.

This time, she had said.

Kylo nearly smiled. “It’s been a long journey and I could use a good fight.”

“You’ll have more than enough time for that,” Leia muttered, her voice unable to disguise something hidden in the words. Kylo wanted to ask more but he suddenly felt a weight hit his torso and knock him on his back.

“You’ve kept us waiting,” Rey said, a wry smile tugging at her lips.

“Cousin,” Kylo gritted out as a bony knee dug further into his liver. “I see you haven’t stopped being a pain while I was gone.”

“You weren’t here to do it, so I stepped up.”

“Of course. Now get off.” Kylo shoved, Rey willingly falling to her knees alongside him. Kylo groaned as he sat up, checking to see if he’d lost anything from his bags in his tumble. A searing jolt whipped through his shoulder and he tried to not aggravate it further.

“Is it true that you’ve learned more of the Weirding Way?” Rey whispered, her eyes alight with excitement.

She had grown so much, Kylo nearly missed her question as he looked her over. “Yes,” Kylo said. “And so much more.”

Their family had always been tied to the Weirding Ways. Their great-grandmother had been a Reverend Mother for their people, a woman who had seen through time and space. She had been a much loved spiritual leader, a healer, one who could use the Voice that no man could disobey. That blood ran through their veins.

“And Muad’dib?” Rey asked. “Do you think he truly is the Mahdi?”

“I’ve just come home,” Kylo huffed.

Rey gave him a brilliant smile. “I’m glad you’re back.”

Kylo gathered her in his arms, resting his chin on top of her head. “Me too.”

* * *

 

He ached: so many pains, so many tiny pinches across his skin. He was itching to collect the water from his still suit.

His rooms were as he left them. Mostly. His graphite set had moved to the far table, the chair askew, a few pieces of parchment littered the floor. A battered Harkonnen helmet sat in the corner. And it seemed enough salvaged parts to build an ornithopter.

Rey had turned his room into storage.

Irritating, but something about the gesture while he was gone was touching.

Still. He'd throw everything off the cliffside if she didn't get it out by tomorrow.

Kylo unwound his tattered cowl, folding it and placing it on his cot. He absently traced a few repaired seams, remembering each rip. His mother had tried so many times to give him a new cloak, they were so useful in the desert, but Kylo resisted. She would only shake her head and mumble about stubbornness. Eventually, a new cloak did appear in his room. It was covered in a thick layer of sand on his shelf.

He had retrieved a waterskin before retiring and Kylo expertly released each snap, strap, and valve to drain his stillsuit of its collected water. With the connection secure, Kylo pulled his body slowly from this second skin, a towel wiping each inch of newly exposed flesh, so that no moisture would be lost to the air.

A gust swept down the corridor, whistling in harmony with the voices in the caves, so lively with the return of Kylo’s group. Someone was singing an old hymn about rain. A smile played on Kylo’s lips as he cleaned himself, thinking of what rain would feel like. Would it be warm? Cold? Would there still be enough air to breathe? Did it fall straight down? What was it like on the edge of a rainstorm? If you stood on it, would half be wet and half be dry?

Kylo frowned, the humming he hadn't realized he began cutting off in a disappointed tone. Several drops of sweat trickled down his right arm. He peered into the intake tubes on the inside of his stillsuit, perhaps something was clogged or maybe the straps had loosened. Hopefully, it would be an easy fix, he had put in too much work modifying it for his stature.

He peeled out of the rest of the suit, tossing it and the towel in an airtight box for dehydrating. The smooth stone was cool beneath his bare feet, a chill breaking his skin into bumps as another gust whipped through. Kylo grabbed his cleansing stone and started to scrub his legs, listening to the laughter he heard coming from the passages.

“Kylo?” a voice called.

“Just a moment,” he replied, scrubbing his legs dry and stepping into a pair of loose pants. “Enter.”

“Kylo.” It was Romon Ren. They had already changed into their comfortable clothing and looked nearly dead on their feet. They carried a small bundle of ointment and bandages.

“Hey,” Kylo replied, resigned. The constant ache in his shoulder had become his new normal. The pain was normal. Of course, his left arm would hurt every time he moved it; a nasty side effect from when you’re impaled by shrapnel from a crashed ornithopter.

Romon frowned at him before setting the bandages on Kylo’s cot. “You’ve gone a week without a new dressing,” Romon admonished.

“It’s not infected anymore,” Kylo supplied as an excuse. The wound was over six months old, but infection had left it slow to heal. It made Kylo angry. So much extra water used to mend his mistake.

Romon tsked as they moved to pull the bandage free, the adhesive still painfully ripping hair. It burned, his mind going white for a moment while Kylo breathed through it.

Fingers prodded at his flesh like hot pokers. “It’s still sealed, thankfully.” Romon made him feel like a child. “Are you going to tell your mother?”

“It’s healed. It would do no good to share.” Kylo stared off into the distance, not even believing his words.

“ Tell her tonight before Ikvar or M’di rats you out.”

“They wouldn’t.”

“They would,” Romon affirmed. “You’re still the strongest of us, but if you continue to ignore your handicap, it affects the whole sietch.”

“It’s not a handicap!” Ren snapped. It was just a mistake. He could pull through. Ignore it. He didn’t need any help.

Romon was silent as they gently scrubbed the wound. It had been horrible at first; a fragment of a pipe had flown straight into his clavicle, scraping it as it slid through. He was lucky, but it had bled.

A wound like that would have killed anyone slighter than him. And now he was left with a disadvantage. It was shameful. His training in the Weirding Ways was barely enough to compensate. He was still strong but he couldn’t help but think of how strong he would be without this defect.

He walked the line between anger and despair. Romon grounded him with their repetitive movements: scrubbing, cleaning, drying, pressing adhesive into his skin.

“I’ll talk to her over dinner.”

Romon was silent. It was the best they could expect from Kylo.

With a gentle pressure, Romon sealed the last of the bandages and Kylo admired the work, moving his arm in circles. It hurt, it would always hurt, but he could move it. Perhaps, someday he would grow used to it.

Kylo sighed and Romon gently cupped his cheek. Those dark eyes seemed forgiving and judgmental at the same time. With a few good-natured pats, Romon left.

Kylo stared at the curtain for his room. Everything was different now that he was home. He had to take what he learned to protect what he loved. There was no room for weakness.

He grabbed his cleansing stone and finished his arms.

* * *

 

“Mother?”  Kylo called at the curtain to her room. It was time for sahur, the meal at dawn, before they slept through the hottest hours of the day.

“Come in, Kylo.”  

Leia sat at her table, so small next to the space meant for many.

“Where’s Rey?” Kylo asked when he saw there were only two place settings.

Leia smiled. “Who knows? Last month, she had climbed to the top of the crag just to get some vulture eggs. No one had any idea until they were on her plate.”

“By herself?” Kylo was mildly horrified. “She could have fallen.”

“You’ve been gone a long time, things have changed. She’s not just a strong fighter, she’s a natural leader and she’s very intelligent. She’s grown up.”

“She’s stubborn.”

“So is everyone in our family.”

They both sat a moment in silence. Kylo breathed deep and looked at his portion. She had said everyone, but it still felt like she had said that he was the worst of them all. Barely together for a few minutes and Kylo could feel the years of resentment creep back into his shoulders, painfully tensing them. He popped a chunk of dried meat into his mouth to stop himself from talking.

The tension lingered but full belly could comfort anyone after a long night. Kylo chewed on a piece of bread and looked around the room. His mother’s room was much like he remembered. A large crystalline rock he’d found as a child and had proudly given to her. A small doll made of fabric scraps that had been Rey’s. A beautiful white vase, painted in blues and greens, showing an ocean littered with islands. His father had brought that to his mother before Kylo had been born. His last trip off-planet, if he recalled correctly. Kylo had stared at it for hours.

Under his mother’s pillow, he caught the gleam of a crysknife. That was new. Kylo ate a few dehydrated vegetable chips and wondered what had his mother on edge. He sighed, exhaustion seeping into his bones, unsure if he could even finish his meal. His mother had already finished hers.

Kylo blinked at his plate. It was still quite full. He hadn’t been that lost in thought. How had she eaten it all? He tried to remember a few minutes past. Her plate had nearly been bare.

“Are you ill?” Kylo asked, staring into his mother’s eyes. He wanted to see the truth.

“I just don’t need as much food these days,” she said, dismissively.

“If you’re sick, you need to see the doctor. You can see Ikvar now that she’s home.”  

“It’s nothing serious.”  Leia placed her hand on his in what should have been a comforting gesture. Kylo’s heart only hurt instead.

“So, it is something? Tell me.” She sat back in her chair, shaking her head, ready to give more excuses, but Kylo cut her off.

“No!” Kylo shouted, slamming his fist on the table and making the plates rattle. “I have only just arrived and already you’re lying to me.”

Leia frowned. “When were you going to tell me about your injury?”

Surprise temporarily dampened his rage. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

“A lie,” she replied simply.  

“Fine! I wasn’t going to tell you. Does that make you happy, mother?” Kylo spat.

“That is important for the sietch to know.”

“So, what? You’re going to forbid me from fighting?”

“No,” Leia said, rubbing circles on her temples. “But, it’s a risk, and those you fight with should know.”

Kylo punched his shoulder. He could stop himself from crying out, he could stop himself from flinching, but he couldn’t stop the cold sweat beading on his head. A complete waste of water. His anger pushed the pain down.

“I. Am. Fine.” Kylo spoke like he was trying to convince himself. Leia was not impressed.

“For the good of the sietch,” she said, a common Fremen mantra. It felt like an insult. It probably was.

“Why aren’t you eating?”  

“Our supplies are low, there isn’t enough food, we’ve taken to rationing.” Leia seemed embarrassed by this.

“But -” Kylo tried to wrap his mind around the problem.

“There was an accident. We lost our harvest last season. Our raids have been mostly unsuccessful, it seems our Harkonnen neighbors are low on supplies as well.”

“You were angry about an old wound of mine but you didn’t think to mention that there are Harkonnen here? That we may starve?” Kylo was incensed.

“We’re not going to starve. We’ve been through worse.”

Kylo grabbed his mother’s hand and squeezed. “I’ll lead a party.”

“No,” she whispered. “We may have taken several 'thopters, but they’ve killed fifteen of us.”

“Fifteen?”  Kylo was shocked.

So many.

Who?  

“Your father, he had this crazy idea…”  Leia looked so sad.

“Han? He - he said he would be working with the smugglers in the northern hemisphere.” Kylo’s statement sounded like a question. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the answer.

Leia swallowed. “It’s been four months, now.”

“What are you saying? You- you didn't tell me?”

“I’m so sorry.”

Kylo stood, nearly overturning the table. He couldn’t think, couldn’t feel, he just needed to move. Words meant nothing.

Eventually, the ringing in his ears died down. He was in his room, curled up on his cot. His chair was shattered on the floor, his shelves knocked over, bundles of clothing spilling out of ripped baskets.

It took him another moment to realize he was hyperventilating. His chest was hollow but no amount of air could help it.

His eyes stung, but nothing fell. It would be a waste of water.

Fremen don’t shed tears for the dead. 

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> anyway, special shoutout to Gen, my love, always encouraging me and giving me my harkonnen hux and letting me borrow their knights of ren <3 
> 
> and to cylin for the absolutely stunning art, i was in awe the entire time of the process, check it out, it's fucking gorgeous 
> 
> \-----  
>  **Fic art:**
> 
> [Harkonnen Hux](http://www.huxplicit.tumblr.com/post/171170916861/) by [creepycreepyspacewizard](http://www.creepycreepyspacewizard.tumblr.com/)  
>  [A Stand-off in the desert](http://huxplicit.tumblr.com/post/171945003651/) by [cylin-aka-ankamo](http://www.cylin-aka-ankamo.tumblr.com/) 

> 
> \-----  
> Find me at my side blog [Huxplicit](http://huxplicit.tumblr.com/)  
> 


End file.
